Pinks and syringa in the garden closes
And the sweet privet hedge and golden roses.
The pines hot in the sun, the drone of the bee;
They die in Flanders to keep these for me.
The long sunny days and the still weather,
The cuckoo and the blackbird shouting together,
The lambs calling their mothers out on the lea;
They die in Flanders to keep these for me.
The doors and windows open: South wind blowing
Warm through the clean sweet rooms, on tip-toe going,
Where many sanctities, dear and delightsome be --
They die in Flanders to keep these for me.
Daisies leaping in foam on the green grasses,
The dappled sky and the stream that sings as it passes --
These are bought with a price, a bitter fee --
They die in Flanders to keep these for me.
